


a day spent on more than nothing

by GravityComplex



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 04:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15964820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityComplex/pseuds/GravityComplex
Summary: A man and his child wait for the return home of a very important husband and father.In the process not a lot really happens... but what does is quite adorable.





	a day spent on more than nothing

**Author's Note:**

> this is mostly a purely self gratifying fic and it doesn't have to be enjoyed by anyone  
> but if you enjoyed it then good
> 
> a little of implied/referenced alcoholism and child abuse at the end of the story, but very minor  
> also some minor headcanon stuff for aquinea thalrassian because we know nothing about her so i can do whatever the fuck i want

 

**Saturday**

**9:03am**

It was, in Cullen's humble opinion, unfair to require for anyone to be awake earlier than 9 in the morning — although he'd been waking up at 7:30 for the last few years, if only because he had to be at work at 8:30, and in his household an hour was needed for preparation each day, half of that went into the breakfast. Which made, by association, weekends sacred and holy and untouchable.

He probably would've woken later even, had he not been the only responsible adult in the house, but at the moment he was and had no options but to be as adult as possible. 

Getting out of bed had been the worst part, leaving the comfort of a warm, fluffy bed with equally fluffy pillows, followed by putting on the minimum required clothes to look decent — even if he was taking a bath immediately after breakfast, — and also…

No, actually, everything about it was the worst part.

Cullen didn't like getting up earlier than 10 in the weekends. That was the undeniable truth.

No matter, he was still the only adult in the house, something that wouldn’t change for at least the next 15 hours, so he put on his big boy sweatpants and walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen.

He stopped at the end of the stairs, however, when he noticed a small brown shape — accompanied by another, slightly larger and slightly bluer, shape — sitting by the window at the entrance, looking out through it.

“... Amala?”

Amala turned around, the bear onesie she wore covering part of the embarrassment on her face — the rest covered by hugging their mabari Princess, as if she could use it as a shield.

“... Mornin’.” 

Cullen smiled, walked up to her and grabbed her, holding her in his arms and pressing a kiss to the bridge of her nose. 

“What are you doing up so early, my bear princess?” He asked, mostly surprised as Amala had the same issues with waking up early as he did.

“Pitra is coming home today!”

It wasn't the response Cullen was expecting, not in the least, but it made sense.

Dorian had left for Tevinter — family issues, of the kind he preferred not to involve his small but growing family with Cullen — and he was, in fact, returning that Saturday after six days away.

Amala, while she seemed to favour Cullen when it came to attention, being a shameless papa's girl, had missed her pitra enough to wake up early to receive him right at their entrance, quite the effort for a 4 year old who had a tendency to fall asleep in completely ridiculous places.

Their daughter was, in his completely unbiased opinion, the most adorable creature in the world. 

“You were waiting for pitra, then?”

“Yes!” She looked at Cullen with the most serious expression she could muster, pouting exaggeratedly.

The most adorable creature. _Ever_.

“Pitra won't be back until later today, princess…” Cullen started, pressing yet another kiss on her nose. “Would you like to help papa prepare for pitra, though?”

Amala nodded and smiled, grabbing Cullen's face by the cheeks and giving him a peck.

Princess, the mabari, grew disgruntled as she was ignored and rubbed her head against Cullen's pants, receiving pets in return.

“Don't worry, we'll do something special for pitra.” He let Amala go, concentrating on Princess for a moment before speaking again. “I'll feed Princess, we'll have breakfast and take a bath afterwards, is that okay, Ama?”

“Okay! Can I bathe with papa?”

“Of course, princess.”

Amala seemed to grow happier by the second, and went along with Cullen to the kitchen as he looked for Princess’ food.

**9:48am**

One large, and sausage fat, mabari fed and breakfast cooked later, Cullen was focused on two things: cleaning the dishes and thinking what exactly he could prepare for Dorian — seeing as he would be returning around dinnertime.

Amala was still sitting down, munching on a piece of toast and watching Cullen curiously, as if she was about to begin one of those lines of questioning that usually ended with Cullen embarrassed beyond fairness. Of particular note was the time that, having overheard Branson speaking things he shouldn’t have, she'd decided to ask how babies were made in cars.

(Thankfully, Dorian had just swooped right in, answered with a calm yet serious “very, very carefully” and that was that; but it took Cullen a good hour to lose the blush.)

“Papa?”

“Yes, princess?” Cullen turned to look at her, the dishes only half finished.

“Why did pitra leave?” She sounded confused, and stared at Cullen for an answer, trying to put the entirety of what was left of her toast — about two thirds of it — in her mouth while waiting for it.

The issue was that even Cullen didn't know fully what was Dorian’s reasoning for leaving. Not to say that he didn't have any reason to, but considering what his attitude had been beforehand…

(As much as Dorian had loved his father, and he had done so a lot, he had also given up on receiving an apology or any understanding from his blood family in general.)

Maybe it just upset him that he'd gone alone.

“You see…” He began, leaving the dishes and sitting beside Amala, taking the toast out of her mouth carefully. “Do you remember when pitra told you about his parents?”

“Yes! Pitra said they hurt him lots of lots and his papa died.” She said, bringing the toast back into her mouth.

“Well, he went to see his mama, Ama.”

“Why?”

Cullen then grabbed Amala and sat her on his lap, petting her, and also trying to keep her from continuing her toast related feats.

“I'm… I'm not really sure.” That wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't a lie either. “Your pitra got hurt a lot but his mama mostly hurt him because she wasn't there with him.”

Dorian's words were always that Aquinea had been abusive by inaction, although he couldn't blame a woman who was constantly drunk to the void and back that much. Her neglect had left him alone with his father, and he knew nothing about what his mother truly thought of him as a person and what she felt regarding what Halward was doing at the time, and what he eventually did, since communication had been minimum between the two.

She had seemed apologetic at Halward’s funeral, or so Dorian had told Cullen at the time, and she was the one to open up dialogue with him a few weeks ago — Dorian told him she'd started rehab, therapy and was, in general, trying to make up for the mistakes and neglect — which would culminate in the trip Dorian was coming back from.

Why Dorian had decided to give her the time of day after so long was anyone's guess, however. A desire for some, even if small, kind of closure, maybe. Or just wanting any of his parents to admit they’ve been wrong. One way or the other, Cullen wasn’t going to judge him for it.

“Papa, if pitra got hurt by his mama, why did he go see her? You always tell me I don't have to be in places that give me hurts.” Amala pouted and went back to trying to choke on her toast.

“Because sometimes people want to apologize and you might consider giving them a second chance.” He kissed the top of her head, once more taking the toast away. “So he went to see if his mama really wants to make amends.”

Amala stared up at Cullen for a moment.

“But why did he leave us home?”

Now _that_ Cullen wasn't confused about.

“Because, when you're old, you might need to do things alone for yourself.”

“You and pitra tell me I should ask for help when I need it, though.”

“Yes, but…” Cullen stopped to think for a moment, trying to find the right words. “When you're older, you sometimes find yourself in situations where you need to do things alone — not because you don't need help, but because you need to help yourself. It’s part of growing up.”

There was also a chance that Dorian did it to protect them, in case Aquinea wasn't interested in reconciliation, but he wasn't planning to tell their baby girl that.

Amala looked at Cullen as he spoke, toast still unfinished but no longer big enough to be a choking hazard, and nodded — she appeared to have understood, at least partially, because her next question was far simpler to answer.

“... Does that mean I'm gonna have a new granny?” 

“I, I don't know. If pitra thinks she'll be good to you, I suppose you'll have another grandma.” 

A nod far too solemn to come from a child later and Amala was climbing down Cullen's lap and the chair, toast finished on her very last steps.

“Bath time now?”

Cullen got up, opened the backyard door so Princess — who had finished her food — could get out, closing it immediately after she had stepped outside.

“Bath time now.”

Amala raised her arms out, yay-ing, before taking her onesie right there and then, practically running to the bathroom in nothing but her underwear.

**10:22am**

“ _Ahhhhhhhhhhh!_ ”

“Amala, don't do that.”

Amala stopped ahh-ing into the hairdryer, not looking apologetic in the slightest — not that Cullen could blame her, he'd do that for hours in front of a fan if allowed (and bored.)

At least her hair was finally dry, which meant he could sit down and spend 10 minutes trying to braid it. 

Not that Cullen minded, but he understood how annoying it could be to have unmanageable curls. Amala seemed to enjoy it, which was something of a blessing considering how long he might take. 

“Papa… You said pitra is coming home later.”

“Yes…?”

“It’s already later and he's not here!”

Cullen smiled softly at the pout he couldn't see but was obviously there.

“I meant much later, as in around dinner.” He said, still braiding Amala's curls and trying to keep her head in place to do so.

“That is a lot later.” She sounded frustrated and Cullen couldn't help but feel bad — he'd been missing Dorian a lot too.

“Yes, but once he's back he's not leaving.” It might’ve not been much consolation, but it was the truth.

Once Amala's hair was done — a braid tied with a hairtie decorated with the cutest cartoon bear, as it was demanded by the bear princess herself — it was time to continue with their day, now squeaky clean.

 **11:28am**  

Stealing an hour to do paperwork was probably not the best way to spend time on a Saturday, but a man like Cullen could only control his workaholic tendencies for so long; and with Amala having no issues keeping him company, her crayons strewed around the living room’s floor as she drew, he felt as if there were no excuses to get behind his work. 

Three quarters of the way into a pile of requests at work that ranged from normal (i.e. better coffee) to absurd (i.e. make Thursday Casual Kinkshaming Day — he hoped that was a joke, because otherwise he was leaving and never working HR again,) Cullen heard the sound of the back door opening, although that was hardly something to worry about, seeing as Princess was around.

The issue was that Princess was around, and no later than a few seconds after the door was opened, the sounds of a very fat, a too smart for her own good, mabari raiding the kitchen were heard.

Amala got up much faster than Cullen, surprisingly enough, and was already looking at Princess disappointedly when he got to the kitchen’s entrance.

He was greeted with most of their pans and pots, along with some cans, strewed all over the kitchen’s floor — Princess on the centre of the mess.

“Princess.”

A whine.

“Don't. You know you shouldn't do this.”

Another whine, a pitch higher.

Cullen sighed.

“No walkies today.”

That made Princess whine even more, sniffling and looking as if she was going to cry.

Cullen couldn't resist dogs in general, much less his own puppy girl, so he held her close to his chest and petted her — Amala moving to hug her too.

“There… There, there, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” Maker, Dorian had been right all these years, he  _was_ the weakest man in the world. “I'll take you on your walkie but no more of this, alright? I get that you're antsy without your other dad but you know not to do this.”

Princess licked Cullen's cheek in response and woofed once, pleased with the pets. It was surprising how their dog was more of a mess without Dorian around than their daughter — favouritism really ran deep with them both. That, and Cullen assumed Amala was more capable of understanding object permanence than their dog, at her age.

“Can you play with Ama for a little bit while I clean this up?” He smiled, giving one last pet to Princess, who basically put Amala on her back and carried her back to the living room.

As Dorian had once said, out loud, in a similar situation: mabaris are ludicrously strong, but that was just silly.

At least the kitchen wouldn't take long to clean.

**03:11pm**

The kitchen had taken longer than he’d calculated, but with a lunch consisting of leftovers it had stayed around the same level of clean afterwards, thankfully. It probably helped that Cullen and Amala had eaten in the living room, Amala practically demanding to sit on her papa’s lap, with Princess taking any and all scraps offered by both of them.

Afterwards, Amala had nodded off on the comfortable seat constituted by Cullen’s lap, and he’d taken her upstairs for a nap. Cullen, who also felt like taking a nap after a good lunch, had settled Amala in his (and Dorian’s) bed, and once sure she was properly tucked in had tucked himself in, ready for his own nap.

He dreamed of nothing in particular, or at least of nothing in particular he could remember. Lately he’d been sleeping much more soundly, no nightmares but no dreams either.

Around two hours later, Cullen began to wake up. First thing he noticed was that Amala, who was already awake, was lying comfortably on his stomach, staring at him. Her solemn expression, and the natural confusion that comes from waking up from a nap, did not help Cullen fully understand what was going on.

“Ama…?”

Amala didn’t answer. She turned her head and began staring at Cullen stomach, same expression on her face. In a flurry, she raised her hands and, with impressive dexterity for a 4 year old, began what could be described as quite the astounding percussion solo. Her instrument in question being, if it was not obvious, Cullen’s own stomach.

In any other situation Cullen might’ve felt a little self conscious — gaining weight had never been much of a plan for him, even if he was much healthier with the added extra, and the reality was that he was a bit embarrassed by it. It’d been quite the change, from toned, to a bit too thin, to a bit chubby, even if it’d taken several years to get there.

But when Amala had been younger, she had fallen asleep there more than once, and Dorian, for all he loved to tease, would always pat him there with a soft smile that gave up every single loving thought he ever had for Cullen.

(And, unless Cullen had been reading the situation wrong for the last 4 years, it also was a turn on for his husband.)

Even self conscious as he could be, Cullen couldn’t really associate that part of himself with anything negative anymore, at least as long as it was brought up by his family, which he was thankful for.

Amala finished her solo with her hands high in the air, practically posing, giving a very serious and dramatic pout. Cullen stared at her, proud of his daughter’s musical prowess, and pulled her closer for a hug.

“Ew! Papa cooties!” She complained as Cullen began kissing all over her face.

“Papas don’t give cooties, Ama." 

“... don’t you give pitra cooties and pitra gives you cooties too?”

“Amala—” Cullen did his best to sound as earnest as he was capable of, even if what he was about to say sounded ridiculous. “—when you marry, you get cootie immunity.”

Cullen received a look as if he had just told Amala the very meaning of life, although he wondered for a moment if she actually cared to know that. Knowing Amala, she surely cared more about bear related secrets.

He began blowing raspberries all over Amala’s neck, making her giggle, her hands going to Cullen’s cheeks to pinch and stretch, as if that would be enough to stop her own father from showering her with affection.

And he didn’t stop, at least not until Amala licked his face, which not only made him stop but also stare at her, confused.

“... Amala, did you learn that from Princess?” Only person, or dog in this case, Cullen could think of that his daughter would get the idea of literally licking people.

“It works when she does it to pitra!” She wasn’t wrong about it, but still.

“Please don’t copy what Princess does, Ama.”

“I don’t copy everything she does.”

“You should definitely not lick people, specially without their permission.”

She nodded, and Cullen sincerely hoped that would be it for that.

Kissing her forehead, he began to get up, Amala sitting by his side as he cracked his neck for a moment. Cullen petted her, messing with her hair — not to much effect, as her hair was already a little messy from her nap, even braided — and smiled.

“How about we get changed, I fix your hair, and then we go out to give Princess a walkie an—”

Cullen wasn’t finished when Princess had opened the door, having heard _the W word_.

“—d also buy what we need for tonight.” He finished, Princess’ head comfortably resting now on his lap, her tongue out and big smile on her canine face.

“Someone heard the walkie word!”

“Indeed she did.” It probably wasn’t something to be amused by, but Princess was a ridiculous big creature who simultaneously acted more mature and also less mature than his own daughter.

So it was a little bit amusing.

“Anyway…” He started petting Princess, gaining the happiest of woofs in return. “Do you like the plan, princess?” Cullen looked down. “Not you, I already know you like it.”

“Okay! I’ll go choose clothes!” She carefully got off the bed, giving Princess a kiss before leaving for her room.

“She kisses you and not me?” Cullen asked out loud. The woof he got in response almost sounded like a _sucks to be you_. “Don’t be rude, I didn’t raise you like that.”

And now he was arguing with his dog.

Maker, he really, really couldn’t wait for Dorian to be back home. At least then he’d be the one arguing with Princess, surely because she’d decided she had to kiss the face of his favourite dad in the wettest way a dog could.

**05:45pm**

Aside from Princess trying to eat at least four squirrels — Cullen wondered if all the training he’d given the mutt had actually entered her thick skull sometimes, — the walk had gone relatively well. They’d also been able to buy everything they’d need for dinner, specifically a few blueberries Cullen wanted to make a cheesecake with.

Amala had been all right, although Cullen had noticed her hugging her bear plush while they were shopping. She always carried one of her plushies in a little bag, as a comfort object. Amala was not uncomfortable in social situations, and with people she knew she was almost hyperactive sometimes, but surrounded by strangers, in places she wasn’t fully sure how to navigate, she could get agitated, and while Cullen and Dorian were always behind her and wouldn’t stop checking on her, giving her something to help her feel safe seemed like the most reasonable thing to do.

She hadn’t cried or gotten clingier than normal, but Cullen had been sure to ask her if she was okay and she’d only nodded, hugging her bear a little tighter. Once they’d been out the store, he’d held her a little bit closer to his chest and Amala pressed a kiss to his cheek.

The rest of the way home went without issue, not counting Princess’ continuing attempts into consuming whatever squirrel was close enough, and the second they’ve passed the threshold Amala had practically jumped down from Cullen’s arms, slowly getting up the stairs to change.

Shopping bags on the kitchen counter and an Amala changed later, Cullen was organizing what he needed to cook, Amala sitting on a stool waiting for when she would be able to help.

Cullen preferred to keep her away from the actual dinner, he was preparing venison steaks with vegetables, and Amala was still a little too clumsy to be cutting even with a small knife — she was more than happy to help mix the ingredients for the cheesecake, help break the cookies for its base and make pulp out of the blueberries to put on top. The last one also ended with both Cullen and Amala’s faces covered in tiny hand shaped blueberry stains.

**08:28pm**

Dinner had been slowly cooking in the oven and would be ready in the next half hour or so. The cheesecake was safely chilling away in the fridge, waiting to be taken out and eaten after said dinner. Everything was in place.

Except for the returning very important husband and father, who was running a bit late.

Amala was occupied enough watching a documentary on bears — if it included bears in any capacity, Amala would watch anything, truly — that she didn’t hear the door opening very, very slowly accompanied with soft steps inside. Princess was actually the first one to notice, running into the figure who had just entered the house, and jumping him.

“Stop that, you mutt! I was gone for six days, not dead!” He didn’t sound as upset as those words would have anyone believe, however.

Amala raised her head the second she heard the word _stop_ , rolling off the living room’s couch to run up to her pitra, who caught her in his arms.

“Pitra! You’re late! I waited for you _all_ day!” Amala pouted, stretching her _A_ s for dramatic effect, receiving only kisses in return.

“I’m sorry, princess. I promise never to leave you waiting like this again.”

“You better!”

Cullen stared at the scene in front of him from the threshold of the kitchen door, smiling at Dorian as he kept pressing kisses all over their daughter’s face, who kept pouting indignantly at being made to wait.

Dorian raised his eyes and stared back at Cullen, smiling in a way Cullen wasn’t sure if he’d seen much in the last few years together. It was… wistful, maybe. Longing, probably.

“How’s my favourite husband doing?” He asked.

“Favourite? Who are these other husbands I am competing for your favouritism with?” Cullen answered, sincerely amused.

“It’s a matter of speaking you ridiculous man.” Dorian rolled his eyes, smelling then the aroma that came from the kitchen. “I don’t know what you made, but I want to taste it in about… now.”

“Give me ten minutes?”

Dorian walked up to Cullen, Amala still held tightly in his arms, and he kissed him — soft, sweet, practically sickeningly so — and pinched Cullen’s side.

“Ten minutes, Mister Rutherford.”

“As you desire, Mister Rutherford.”

**09:54**

Dorian was laying on the couch, Amala comfortably snuggled and already asleep on his lap, his legs partly resting on Cullen’s lap, who was sitting by his side, dinner and twice the (probably) recommended servings of cheesecake done with, when he began the regular inquisitive conversation that ones does when returning from a long trip.

“So, how was the princess this week? Was there any problem…?”

“She got a little bit—” Cullen stopped, looking for the right word. “—a little bit curious.”

“Cullen, amatus, Amala is always curious.”

“I mean, I mean about why you left. She always asks questions, but we talked about it today.” Dorian looked as Cullen spoke, looking slightly surprised. “I think it was because she was expecting you to return first thing in the morning — she was already waiting for you at the door when I woke up, you know — and then just started questioning why you’d leave in the first place.”

Dorian kissed the top of Amala’s head before sighing softly.

“And what did you tell her?”

“The _child friendly truth_ , Dorian.”

“I still can’t believe we’re calling it that.”

Child friendly truth had become a bit of a euphemism for them, not that it really was one. It was a simple case of calling something what it actually was: if Amala ever asked something, no matter what, Cullen and Dorian had promised themselves to never lie to her — they expected that, as Amala grew, she would be equally as honest with them in return — and that more often than not involved simplifying the truth in ways she could easily understand. Including the awkward subjects.

“Was the trip… good?” Cullen asked, almost uncomfortable to ask.

Dorian looked just as uncomfortable as he responded, however.

“I, I guess?” He began, looking at the tiny girl in his lap. “Mother was— Mother was fine, I suppose.” A sigh. “Do you remember what I told you father said, last time I was able to speak with him?”

“He’d said...” Cullen thought about it for a moment, remembering most of it but trying to recall the details. “He’d said that he was sorry—” _Bull fucking shit_ , he heard Dorian mutter. “—and that the reason why he did what he did was because he was upset—”

“ _Jealous._ ”

“—He was jealous that you were able to live the life you wanted, rather than doing what was ordered, like he had. I think that was the gist of it.”

Dorian nodded.

“I spoke with mother a lot, this last week, it was the point of leaving, after all. And I thought a lot about that, about what father said.” He petted and played with Amala’s hair as he spoke, trying to keep his hands occupied. “He said he was sorry, but I never felt that was an apology. How can it be an apology? _I’m sorry, I was jealous so I tried to change you — in a way that could’ve killed you or left you a shell of your former self — please forgive me?_ How is that fair? I could almost understand, as terrible as it is, if it’d come from… I don’t know, a religious belief or ignorance. Cruel, yes, terrible and hurtful, no doubt. But I can understand, believing you’re right and… _fucking up._  Choosing something because you think you’re right and aren’t willing to see reason. It’s awful, I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself if I committed that mistake with Amala, but I could understand.” Dorian stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. “But choosing to hurt your child? Out of jealousy, because you couldn’t live the life you wanted but they could? How can you just… ask for forgiveness for something so selfish? I’ve been a selfish, self centred, egocentric child much of my life and I would never—!” 

Cullen took one of Dorian’s hands, making him stop. He held it, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles and grinned.

“You’re not as terrible as you like to insist you are, love.”

“Oh, shut it.” Dorian sniffled, trying to keep himself calm, and thanked whatever deity was around for making sure Amala had not awaken during his outburst. “No matter, I don’t expect an apology from a dead man, but speaking with mother… helped. In a way.”

“Did you get along?” Cullen kept rubbing Dorian’s knuckles as he spoke.

“I suppose. Mother talked a lot about her recovery. She seemed… good. She admitted to some relapses in the last few months, but she’s doing well. We spoke a lot about father, about her own father.” Dorian rubbed one of his eyes, trying to keep himself from getting _too_ teary eyed. “I think she didn’t have an easy time as a kid, either. She got married off to father at 18 too, and that didn’t exactly help her.”

“But she’s clean, right? Relapses notwithstanding?”

“I believe so. I didn’t see her drink once in that week, which was impressive enough.” He smiled. “She didn’t use what she told me as an excuse, and her apology was… weird. It was less an apology and more an admission of guilt, but I think that’s what I needed? I needed her to, not necessarily feel guilt, but to admit she’d done something wrong. To know that I wasn’t wrong and I had right and reason to be upset—”

Dorian stopped again at the feeling of Cullen kissing his hand, blushing almost childishly. He was, sadly, forever going to be affected by his ridiculous, amorous husband.

“So it went well, in the end?” Dorian sighed at the question, which only made Cullen continue. “It’s a valid question, love.”

“I’d say it went well, yes.”

“Oh good, because Amala asked if she was getting a new granny.”

Dorian actually looked surprised at that, looking down at Amala and then directly at Cullen’s face several times, as if he was trying to process what he’d just heard.

“I… I’d wait. Before considering that. I don’t think mother would be bad to Amala, but I’d rather wait until she’s a bit more—” Dorian scrunched up his face, looking fully uneasy.

“Stable?” Cullen offered.

“Yes. Stable. Yes, that. That works.” He sighed.

“Well, just making sure. Maybe if she’s doing okay we can… invite her next First Day? Or if she wants she could visit us during Satinalia?”

“We can speak to mother later, and see then. She seemed happy, by the way. That I had a family.”

“Did she?” Cullen had not been expecting Dorian to bring him or Amala up, if only for his own privacy.

“Yes… I showed her a few pictures of you two. She made some very salacious comments about fereldans—” Cullen immediately blushed at that. “—and gushed over Amala and how adorable she is.”

“That sounds about right for anyone who has met Amala.”

Dorian hummed in agreement. They spent a few more minutes like that, Cullen still holding Dorian’s hand, Amala still perfectly still on Dorian’s lap, sleeping soundly.

And a minute later Dorian decided to break the silence.

“I think I want another one.”

Cullen raised a single eyebrow.

“Are we speaking about cloning Amala, or getting a second child? I feel we need to clarify that.”

“As cute as having two Amalas would be, silly husband of mine, I’m talking about having another child.” Dorian’s face read _no shit Sherlock_ all over, but his voice was amused all around.

“That sounds reasonable enough.” Cullen moved closer to kiss him, careful not to wake up Amala. “Wanna go to bed and maybe talk about this tomorrow?”

“I think that’d be for the best.” He smiled, kissing Cullen several times. “We have a princess to tuck in after all.”

**Sunday**

**09:43am**

Dorian was glad to be able to wake up in his own bed, although a part of him was upset he was waking later than his usual time. At least his husband was still fast asleep… and drooling a little on the pillow, as usual. 

The door creaked open, which made him roll to rest on his back, catching on a little brown figure that walked its way to the bed, climbing up and into the comforter and sheets, crawling up and up until its’ head popped right between Cullen and himself, messy curls covering tiny honey gold eyes.

“Good morning, princess.”

“Mornin’, pitra!” Amala moved to kiss Dorian on the nose, a kiss he returned.

“Want to make breakfast for your papa with me?” He hugged Amala closer, and carried her off the bed once she had nodded in agreement. “Come on, we have a papa and a mutt to feed, Ama.”

Amala hugged Dorian by the neck, giggling softly, and asked quietly, almost as if she was embarrassed to be privy to this information, when she definitely shouldn’t have been.

“So… when am I getting a little brother or sister?”

Dorian stopped, looked at Amala, and decided in that moment that her being aware of — at least part of — the conversation he had with Cullen last night was not necessarily the worst thing that could’ve happened. He relaxed, sighed, and kissed her cheek.

“I’ll tell you after breakfast?”

“Okay!” Amala grinned, and that was that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> if ya wonder where amala came from... i dunno  
> maybe one of them is trans, maybe they got a surrogate, maybe it was a blood magic baby  
> it is whatever your heart is set on


End file.
